Pungeons & Braggin's
by Brother Mirtillo
Summary: It's a bard! It's a play-on-words! It's the Dashing Swordsman and his valiant comrades! No character is immune, and no plotline is safe.
1. I Know My Rites

_I am not The Giant, nor do I play him on TV. I am simply a fan of his, and I recommend you check out his work. (I distinctly remember the first comic of his that I read - a friend showed me #418 "It's A Type of Boat." The rest is history.)_

_No promises about maintaining the continuity. No promises about maintaining the characters' dignity, either - but that's nothing new to them. Possible side effects from taking the stories contained herein too seriously include headache, nausea, and ridicule from D&D/webcomic patrons. Consider yourself warned._

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><p>Dawn broke over the Western Desert clearly, steadily, without fuss. It being a desert, the night had been cold and the day would be brutal, but for now, it occupied that comfortable medium. The Order of the Stick lay camped, resting for the latest attempt at their quest, which had proceeded with remarkably few complications so far. And best of all - at least in Roy's mind - Haley had agreed to split the watch with him, and he slumbered on contentedly. Everything was at peace.<p>

Naturally, a blood-curdling scream rent the air, and he snapped awake. "-flying kobolds! Huh? What, what's going on?" He snatched up his greatsword, running towards the noise's source.

Haley quickly turned away from the disturbance to face him. "Roy, good morning! So, feeling better? It's been nice and calm, nothing dangerous going on around here, everything's perfectly fine-"

He put his sword away. "-and I bet there's a good reason why Elan is fighting Belkar. Is this one of those curses that switches their brains, and now _Elan's_ planning to kill us all in our sleep?"

Indeed, the battle seemed very much reversed in how unequal it was. The blond man was prancing about and flourishing his rapier at the fallen halfling, who recovered enough to glare up with pure venom. But before he could get to his feet, Elan simply tapped him on the shoulder and declared, "You may be a predator, but you won't find me easy _pray_!" Belkar promptly screamed and dropped to the ground again, clutching his ears.

Durkon and Vaarsuvius joined their leader, blinking away sleep (or trance, at least) as Roy said, "I doubt this is possible, but if someone could explain why Elan's doing this without breaking my brain, I'd be grateful."

Before Haley could speak, Elan noticed his fresh audience. "Perfect! You've come to join my holy cause!"

A haunted look dawned on Roy's face. "_Tell_ me this isn't-"

But Elan had already pulled out a hand-puppet clown with googly eyes and a banjo. "I had a vision from the great Banjo in the night! He has called me to not only speak for him, but to lend my rapier and my rapier wit to his cause! Behold! I have become a paladin in the First Holy Army of Banjo!"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

But Durkon lost it first. "Ye cannae be a paladin! Ye dinnae haf the-"

"Sure I can! It must be working, because my puns carry Smite Evil damage now! Check it out!" He advanced upon the snarling Belkar, declaring, "You shall never win, evildoer, for in this battle, _smite_ makes right!"

"Gaah! I swear, one more of those, and I am going to rip out your-"

"You will be struck down, unless you _altar_ your ways!"

"Aaargh!"

Unlike the others' various degrees of worry or exasperation, Vaarsuvius looked on intently. "Fascinating... even with the merest contact, his prowess in the Dashing Swordsman class retains its enhancements to strength and combative prowess, but I was under the impression that the target is required to comprehend the meaning of the puns used in order for the technique to be effective, and knowledge of theological practices seems well outside of the halfling's experience."

The resident cleric growled, "Aye, that be my doing. After tha Dungeon o' Dorukan, I took the lad to a religious meetin', hopin' ta show 'im tha light. Tha tales o' war drew 'is ear, right 'nuff. But tha message to die to oneself fer tha sake o' others went all wrong."

"Indeed?"

"Aye... I had ta knock 'im out ta get 'im outta there. He told me tha, since he'd been doin' so much sinnin', it'd take a lotta people to die ta themselves in order ta save him. They had ta put a carpet o'er half the floor, to cover all tha-"

"Look," said Roy. "This is great, I'm sure, but I vote we stop this before we lose a few party members. Either Belkar's about to die, or my brain is. Haley?"

"On it."

"Elan, hey, maybe you'd like to describe your vision to us in a bit more detail?"

"Oh boy, oh boy, would I! There was a great ray of light, and a strum of banjo strings-"

As soon as his back was turned and his sword lowered, Belkar whipped out his twin daggers and prepared to jump. "Get ready to meet your god, you-"

"Sneak Attack!" The sap crashed down on his head, and Belkar dropped all of three feet to hit the sand.

The elf blinked unsteadily. "It would be a falsehood for me to declare that such an action failed to be gratifying to witness. However, it instills some grave doubts about our personal safety once the halfling awakes."

However, something caught Haley's eye, and a quick (and disgusted) Search check of Belkar's pockets turned up a flask. "Looks like we got ourselves some fresh, back-of-the-tent Western Continent booze."

Roy nodded. "Nice. Belkar wakes up next to an empty bottle, he won't even want to remember what just happened. Of course, he'll still have residual anger, but then again-"

"-he always does. But this isn't empty."

Durkon plucked it from her hand. "Tha' can be arranged."

Roy became aware that Elan had never stopped talking. "...nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, 'til we have built an ice cream parlor in Azure's green and pleasant land!"

"Elan, you can't-"

"Though their land is usually more blue than green-"

"Elan, you can't be a paladin!"

"But it's my calling! Even from the first day I was taught by Julio Scoundrél aboard his great ship _Mechane_, it was my foundation for the ways of _war_-ship..."

Roy's retort died in his throat, and one of his eyes started twitching. The elf's ears were swiftly covered, and Haley sighed. Durkon was still intentionally failing his Listen check - no easy feat, given his high Wisdom.

"...and his lessons are what I need, as I learned from Banjo's _rapier_-ance before me!"

"You can't be a paladin because you're not Lawful!"

Elan thought about this. Or at least gave a good impression of it. "...Ohhhh."

"Right, so just drop the whole pun-smiting thing and let's forget this ever happened."

Elan's face fell. "Then without me as its prophet, I guess the First Holy Army of Banjo doesn't have a prayer."

"-_hrk_- Gah! Elan, what did I just say!"

"Well, that one wasn't _really_ a pun-"

"I don't care what it was! Knock it off, no loopholes!"

Durkon wiped his standard-issue dwarven beard, in better spirits for the spirits. "Ah, Roy, it's na so strange. Whene'er a lad wants ta be a cleric, he works hard ta receive _hole_-y orders."

Roy gasped, "Oh no... it's contagious!"

Elan pointed, "Hey, I think there's smoke coming out of Vaarsuvius' ears!"

Haley patted her boyfriend on the back. "Then you must be a holy man. Just like they say: where there's smoke, there's _friar_!"

He joined her laughter, and then Roy pointed over his shoulder. "Look, Elan - it's the spirit of Banjo incarnate!"

Elan gasped with joy, then spun to face the sky. "Banjo! I knew you'd never forget me! I believed in you, for you are my captain, and I am your _crew_-sader..."

The last syllable came out somewhat slurred, and Elan's face went more dopey than usual before he dropped somewhat more than three feet, also hitting the sand face-first.

Roy shook some life back into his fist, facing their various expressions stoically. "Look, I have my limits all right? And Elan here just crossed the 'punch' line."

Then he realized it. "Son of a..."


	2. Dehydration

_I should add that when I said the continuity would be flexible, I also meant the chapters aren't going to be in chronological order. But with a __story framing device__ like this, I doubt that'll be cause for concern._

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><p>The party marched across the bleak, rocky plains of the Sunken Valley, sticking close in a group, checking the horizon, and doing all sorts of other adventuring routines that are best taken for granted when writing or portrayed in a single panel.<p>

Belkar continued, "…so she tracks the druids right up to some cave, and I'm ready to go stab something, when suddenly the wizard who's got us all looking for this orb tells us to stop while he scans for the leader. I say, "Screw that, we're all at full health, let's get in there and gut some treehuggers!' And he whines, "Hey, it's my party, and I'll scry if I want to.' So I stabbed him in the kidneys."

Vaarsuvius sighed with a lowered brow. "Thus, by rescuing a solitary ranger from rampaging treants, an adventuring party ensured death to untold legions of future victims."

Roy turned his head and called, "All right, everyone, get on guard. Remember, the first trial is the Test of the Body, and we'll have two more to face after that."

In a rare burst of foresight, Elan wondered, "So when you came here before, what were the Tests like?

"They were... uh... they were... huh. Well that's weird. I don't remember. Hey Durkon, do you remember what the Tests were last time?"

"Huh? Um... nay, lad. But I rememb'r them bein' tough."

"Well, I think we can expect the Test of the Body to be some sort of combat, probably against a really tough monster like-"

His words were cut off as a giant boulder came into view. Granted, the valley was otherwise free of obstructions, but the edge of the panel had concealed the boulder until they had nearly reached it.

Elan whispered, "Oh my gods..."

"What?" snapped Belkar. "It's just a stupid boulder."

"It's not just a boulder... It's a rock!"

"For the love of-"

"No, this is it. A big creature-sized rock at high noon... This is where the enemy monster's going to spring out!" Sure enough, a silhouette became noticeable around the edges of the rock. It was visible enough that they could tell it would be gigantic, but despite the bright sunlight overhead, it remained properly shadowed. "It's a... It's a-"

"You know," said Roy, "I can already tell this battle won't be straightforward, so just for a change of pace, I'll play along." He thought for a bit, making the most of his cross-class Listen skill. "It's growling, so it's already angry... but it's got kind of a hiss to it, or maybe a laugh... I bet it's an enemy monster that wasn't actually defeated, and it's come back for revenge!" Drawing his greatsword, he made a GAR-style flourishing pose and called, "You will never prevail against the Order of the Stick! We answer your challenge - Trigak!"

The creature crawled swiftly over top of the giant rock, rearing all six of its serpentine heads at its prey. To some, it was only known as a giant snake-monster. To those who weren't Elan, it was a hydra.

"You... you're not Trigak."

Even Durkon was confused. "Who?"

Vaarsuvius whispered, "I believe Sir Greenhilt is referring to the chimera that I summarily dispatched in comic #20." Seeing Belkar's glare, the elf added, "With some minor, and might I add unrequested, help in the following comic."

Elan nodded knowingly, which was severely disorienting for Roy to watch. "Oh... but Roy, there's no reason for it to come back now."

"What, isn't it a common trope? How's it go, you never hang it up unless you're going to fire it..."

"Bfahfmu'q Bpmqqemv."

"Ah, I believe ye mean Chekhov's Crossbow."

Haley scowled. "Sfzs'q vfzs G huqs qzgr."

"Yeah, that one. The enemy that gets description but you never give a second thought to is always the one that comes back and causes trouble when you don't expect it."

Elan smiled, "Well, first of all, you _did_ expect it. With that pose and everything."

This stopped Roy short, and he scowled. Trying to _catch up_ with Elan's thought process was entirely new to him.

"And second of all, that comic was clearly being played for laughs, not drama. Don't you remember - we shared a punch line together!"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. It just seemed like it had a chance to be the dramatic thing here, but never mind! It doesn't really matter."

Durkon patted him on the back - well, lower back, anyways. "Aye, dinnae worry aboot it, lad. Ev'ryone has trouble wit tha rules for a Chekhov opportunity."

The hydra, which had just begun leaning down to eat the dangerous-looking yet inattentive fighter, paused when it heard this. Then all six eyes widened in pain, it give a strangled screech, and it lurched to the ground, twitching for several seconds before lying still.

They stared at it, and Belkar gave it an experimental kick. "Huh... head trauma times six, with only one heart to get blood to and from the brains. It's dead, all right."

Vaarsuvius' gave a strange look. "And since when are you proficient at the conduct and enunciation of autopsies?"

"Hey, I know at least fourteen ways to kill a giant reptile by going for the head, and that _doesn't_ include knives. Stabbing just happens to make some funnier noises."

Roy shrugged and led the march further into the valley. "Well, at least it's over."

As they disappeared into the distance, Durkon wondered, "P'rhaps it'd useful, learnin' how ta use puns fer damagin' tha enemy."

Vaarsuvius sniffed. "Hardly. That would pander to theatrical inclinations and trivialize the dedication necessary for cultivating combative prowess."

"Aye, but ye cannae deny it'd be fun ta watch..."


	3. Sea Sand Assist

_A couple of things: one, I don't know if the rules allow this chapter's enemy to do all of this stuff. But I haven't found anything that says it _can't_, so full steam ahead._

_And two, I'm aware that not everybody will get these jokes, and coming from a pun-slinger, that's saying something. But I just had to do it (the title of OotS strip #136 says it all), and I threw in a little action to round out the flavor._

_Share and enjoy._

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><p>As the Azurite landing party marched along the beach, Daigo examined the map from multiple directions, including upside-down. "I'm sorry, Lord Hinjo, but I really can't make heads or tails of this map. Are you sure the person who wrote this spoke Common?"<p>

"Yes. But now that I think about it, I believe it was made when my uncle decided his scholars should try taking levels in new branches of Knowledge."

"Was that a problem, sir?"

"Knowledge (geography) got delegated to the engineering department for more than four months."

"Ah... Well, the best I can make it out, we seem to have landed in a chain of islands off the Eastern Continent."

A pause. "Well, that can't be right."

"I agree, Lord Hinjo - I've never heard of that place either."

Forming the front guard, Durkon continued his story for Lien. "...so tha high priest o' Odin says ta tha salesman, 'Fer tha last time, we dinnae need another icon o' our god, we've got all we need! And certainly not at that price!' Then tha salesman loses his rag, holds his price sheet right in tha high priest's face an says, 'I'm bendin' o'er backwards ta give ye a deal here - what are ye, blind?'"

Lien laughed, "Oh, he didn't..."

"Aye, so tha high priest yells, 'Out! Guards, pack tha wanker's horse fer 'im and get 'im outta me sight!'"

Elan smiled and added, "Yeah, get out of here - you and the horse your Odin's on!"

Durkon's chuckle died off, and Lien muttered, "Um, Elan, maybe that wasn't the best-"

"Ooh, I'm sorry... I guess that was a bit obvious. Next time, I'll go for something more _lo-key_, huh?"

This set Durkon's teeth grinding.

"Uh-oh, I think I hit a Thor spot-"

"Tha's it, lad!" But his hand froze it on his hammer as a scream echoed from further down the beach. The party of five ran until they saw it: a human woman fleeing from the water. Since she was a piece of eye candy and shrieking in terror, Elan wasn't surprised when she tripped and fell, despite the sand containing nothing to trip on.

And sure enough, the water billowed up as a creature lurched from the waves. It roared as it towered over the cowering woman, tentacles lashing everywhere, seeking, reaching, grasping-

"Hey, it's the squid thingy! How've you been?"

His grand entrance thoroughly ruined, the pink tentacle-faced humanoid stopped roaring and dropped his hands. The woman scampered to safety, but that was fine - she'd had the mental content of a cup of water ice. Likewise, he recognized the brain-matter scent of Durkon and Elan ("_no thanks"_ and _"not if I was half starved to death"_, respectively), then turned his senses to the other three.

_The bald fighter, recently-named [peanut butter sandwich]... Not junk food, but not very filling either._

_The bearded paladin, royal [pack of jerky and travel rations]... Solid, but maybe a bit _too_ tough._

_The female paladin, athletic [seasoned vegetable stir-fry]... Delicious AND nutritious! We've got a winner! _

"Aaah!" Lien dodged back, barely escaping the lunging psion's tentacles. She whipped out her harpoon, Durkon stepped up wielding his hammer and shield, and Elan flourished his rapier, calling, "All right, squid-thingy, sorry to _brain_ on your para-"

"Hold id righd dere!" Two men strode onto the scene, each wearing pants, dress shirts, jackets and ties that seemed to be made of the material used for swimming garments. The bald one of them said, "You can'd ged away from uth!"

Hinjo did a double take. "Jones and Rodriguez?"

Daigo blinked. "Who are these guys? And what sort of accent is that supposed to be?"

"Id's nod an accend - I had mah withdom deeth out dooday."

Rodriguez spoke up, "And we're honorary paladins of the spoooooky wizard-"

"Phil, id wathn'd funny the firth dime." Pointing at the psion, Jones continued, "We're lawyerth, and we're here doo bring thith fugidive back indo cuthody!"

Hinjo took a closer look at the scowling target. "I have not seen such a creature before."

Durkon spoke up, "It's called a-"

"_Don'd_ thay id! Idth name ith thdill under drademark!"

"...Och, fine, but may I ask how tha creature got free o' ye?"

As Jones clutched his jaw in sudden pain, Rodriguez managed to answer, "It slipped into another realm, a parallel world where the most fantastical and unbelievable notions become reality! Where rules and limits are forgotten, where every fabric of being is subject to a thousand probing, pulling, transforming forces. Where cause and effect have no meaning, where alternate versions of life, of civilizations, of _people_ are commonplace! The realm of-"

"Wall of Ectoplasm!" A bubble of the gauzy substance condensed around Hinjo, Daigo and the lawyers.

"Lord Hinjo!" "Why, ye rotten little..." "Don't worry, Hinjo - I'll avenge you!"

But as Elan sprang forward, the creature pointed again. "Quickened Psionic Grease!" A beam shot from his hand, striking Elan's rapier and coating it in a slippery film.

The weapon quickly slipped out from his grasp, and he tried to snatch for the handle, but he fumbled it again, and he had just enough presence of mind to stop short of grabbing it by the blade. As it fell to the sand, he muttered, "Aww... and Haley always says I have such nimble hands..."

Lien was more succinct. "Smite Evil!"

The creature screamed, but despite the harpoon-sized hole in his torso, he still managed to focus on Durkon as the short-legged man closed the gap. "Ectoplasmic Cocoon!" Vines of ectoplasm gathered around his hands before lancing out and ensnaring the dwarf. In a second, Durkon was paralyzed into the world's most aggressive lawn ornament.

"No! How dare-"

"Quickened Psionic Blast."

She cried out, dropped her harpoon, and slumped to the ground, dazed and reeling. The creature, panting heavily, nevertheless grinned as he stood over her. '"I've got you, my pretty, and your little-"

"Check out my own psy-_kick_ powers!" The creature had never before appreciated how much a kick to the small of the back could hurt. The lesson came a bit late, now that he flew forward, tripped over his would-be target, and face-planted into the sand. Pushing himself to his knees only opened his glaring face up for Elan to add, "And you know what? Your fighting style matches you: it really s-_thinks_." The last kick propelled him jaw-first into the air before he dropped again.

The sphere finally burst like an egg under the combined attacks of Hinjo and Daigo. But neither could outrun the lawyers, and Jones had his foot on the monster's stomach and his briefcase on the monster's throat before they could say "broken restraining order." Rodriguez cheered, "Woo-hoo! We've seen better evasion on tax returns, you lousy illi-"

"DON'D thay id, Phil!"

The two warriors turned to breaking Durkon's restraints. By the spell's stats, this should have required more time, but when they saw Elan approach them wielding his rapier and an eager look in his eyes, they found a burst of motivation and finished the job quickly.

Jones pressed his case - against the creature's trachea, that is. "Then thad'th id. We're daking you in." The psion stirred a bit, and ectoplasm began curling around his hands again, but Jones increased the pressure ever so slightly. "Lithen, buddy, you dry anything, and we'll find loth of other chargeth doo hid you with."

Eyes burning, the unspeakable psion croaked, "Yeah..? Like... what?"

"For tharterth, illithid uth of a controlled thubtanth."

He then stopped and blinked, and Rodriguez muttered, "Uh-oh..."

Instantly, two more bathing-suited men with briefcases appeared on the scene. "Hold it!" said the first, with an aristocratic accent. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Fox, and this is Mr. Chapman."

Rodriguez gasped, "Fox and Chapman of the Coast?"

"Shut up," said Fox, whacking Rodriguez upside the head.

"Waagh!"

Fox continued, "Mr. Jones, you are charged with pronouncing the name of a creature under trademark, and all of you are to be placed into custody under Section 21 of the Strange Fanfiction Act."

Even Hinjo blinked. "What?"

"You are charged with concocting a story - that is, a fictional anecdote - that takes an absurd amount of liberties with the source characters, plot elements, and other structural components, with intent to join said components into a self-serving work that causes grievous injury to the theatrical and intellectual senses of the audience."

In a similar accent, Mr. Chapman added, "And we also understand that you are conspiring to commit impersonation of a comedy sketch belonging to a franchise that is long-beloved by tabletop roleplayers nationwide!"

Right on cue, two more lawyers entered the scene. "Good day, I am Mr. Thompson's Gazelle, and this is Mr. Idle. We are here to prosecute this story on three counts: 1) for grievous injury to walls of a theatrical nature, 2) for hypocrisy in the very act of plagiarism, and 3) - and here's the kicker - for trying to cover up every possible act of plagiarism with a pair of bloody lawyers!" Then he realized, "Wait a minute..."

But he was already being tapped on the shoulder by the next pair of lawyers. He shrugged, "It's a fair cop."


End file.
